


Only A Candle To Guide Me

by gothpandaotaku



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Bloodplay, Bottom Sam, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Crying Sam, Demon Dean, Demon Dean Winchester, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Dean, Post-Episode: s09e23 Do You Believe In Miracles?, Sam Winchester Drinks Demon Blood From Dean Winchester, Season/Series 09, Violence, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 14:05:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5166599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothpandaotaku/pseuds/gothpandaotaku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is a demon. While trying to deal with that indisputable fact, the Winchester's do what they do best: save people and hunt things. But when a hunt changes their relationship forever, will they be able to save themselves?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hola! So, this is the very first multi-chapter Wincest fic I wrote, and one of the very first Wincest fics I wrote in general. I wrote it the summer after season nine... and thus it may not necessarily be my BEST work ( I like to think I've improved), it holds a special place in my heart. Please do be gentle with my baby.

Sam put the last of their things in the trunk of the Impala before shutting it. He looked up and startled to see Dean next to him; he was sure his brother hadn’t been there a second before.

Demons were naturally stealthy beings, after all.

“You sure you want to do this?” Dean asked in a low voice, more gravelly now than Sam was used to. He was speaking to Sam but kept his eyes trained somewhere to the left of him.

Sam didn’t even bother trying to make eye contact. He didn’t think he’d be able to even if he wanted to try. Dean’s eyes were green at the moment, they always were whenever they looked at him now, but the memory of seeing Dean with those cold, inky black eyes for the first time still haunted him.

_“Crowley! Show yourself! Or I swear to God, I will hunt you down-”_

_“Now now, let’s not be melodramatic, Moose. Impatience does not become you, does it?” Crowley appeared suddenly, inside the Devil’s Trap Sam had set with a chesire grin on his face. The fact that Crowley seemed practically giddy when Sam had been waiting for hours waiting for him to show up, each second, minute, hour, making the hole where his heart used to be ache and burn that much more, enraged him._

_But Sam didn’t have time to vent his rage by screaming at Crowley, tempting as it might be. The demon could refuse his offer, after all. So he settled for an intense glare that communicated everything he didn’t have time for (or a bitch face, as Dean called it, and fuck if that thought didn’t feel like a knife in his gut). “Bring him-”_

_“Done and done,” the demon smirked, cutting Sam off in the process. It only grew wider when Sam’s glare intensified._

_Swallowing the anger that threatened to consume him, Sam asked “What do you mean by that?”_

_“I mean,” the demon stepped a little closer to Sam while still in the confines of the circle, “that Dean is alive. Well, technically.” He cocked his head to the side. “It’s a matter of perspective, really.”_

_Sam was already halfway out of the room when Crowley’s words stopped him cold. “That isn’t your brother in there.”_

_“What?” Sam hissed._

_“That is one of my demons, one of my favorite demons, to be exact. MY Knight of Hell. You see, Dean died with the Mark of Cain still intact. Thus, he is a demon.”_

_“No. No, you’re lying-”_

_“I NEVER lie! You know that!” Crowley actually seemed genuinely offended that Sam would think him capable of that. “Tell you what, go see for yourself. But I guarantee you won’t like it. It’s not a pretty sight, I’ll tell ya that. But you’re a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?” He mimed looking at a nonexistent watch on his wrist. “Well, I really must be going now. Toodles, Moose.” And with that, the King of Hell was gone._

_“Hey wait! Crowley!” Sam shouted._

_Not even a second later, Crowley appeared in front of him again. “Oh, almost forgot. Tell your egghead of an older brother ‘I will not be requiring his services at this time, so feel free to do whatever your little demonic heart desires.’ And do keep an eye on him, this time.” With one last smirk, he vanished._

_Sam stood there approximately half a second contemplating the King of Hell’s words before he was once again running towards where he could find Dean._

_He was always running towards Dean. All paths lead to Dean, as far as he was concerned. For better or worse…_

_But when Sam reached Dean’s room he found his legs wouldn’t move. He stood at the threshold, frozen in place. His hand hesitated on the doorknob, ready to turn it any time, and yet it still wouldn’t move. Why? Why couldn’t he do something so simple as turn a friggin doorknob?_

_He was scared of what he would find on the other side of that door, that’s why._

_Crowley said that Dean wasn’t the same, implying that Dean wasn’t even remotely human anymore. If Dean-_

_Dean._

_Dean. THAT’S what he would find on the other side of the door, and nothing else. It didn’t matter what shape he was in, he was still Dean, right?_

_And suddenly Sam couldn’t stand one more second away from his brother. With conviction he turned the doorknob and stepped through the threshold, mentally bracing himself for anything he might see. But the only thing he saw was his big brother sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the door, as if he’d been expecting him._

_The sight of his brother awake and seemingly alright, and most importantly, ALIVE, nearly took his breath away. God, he was alive._

_In the blink of an eye Sam was crushing Dean in what could only be described as a bear hug. He clung to him as tightly as physically possible and planned to do so as long as Dean would let him, aware of his brother’s dislike for physical contact longer than strictly necessary, but he needed this, dammit. The last time he’d hugged Dean he’d felt the life fading out of him and… he hadn’t hugged back._

_After a few seconds he realized something was wrong. Very, very wrong. Normally no matter what Dean would hug back just as tight, but now… now he was as stiff as a bored. His body language gave no indication that he was being embraced. And with a start Sam realized something… Dean smelled different. He buried his face deeper into the hollow of Dean’s neck as if willing the scent to be a trick of his imagination. But it wasn’t._

_Dean smelled like sulfur._

_Like a demon._

_“Dean…” Sam whispered. “Dean, please.” He didn’t even know what he was asking him for. To hear his voice? To tell him that this was all just a sick joke? To tell him that everything would be alright, even if nothing would ever be alright again? To just be Dean, his brother again? It was all of them, and none of them._

_Dean was still unnaturally still. With a hitch of his breath, Sam came to the conclusion Dean wasn’t going to move anytime soon. Slowly, Sam released Dean from his embrace just enough that he could see his face. His eyes were closed, as they had been when he’d walked into the room._

_“Dean? Come on, answer me. Dean. Please, Dean.” He was close to begging now._

_And Dean did. In the time it took Sam to blink, Dean had his eyes open and was fixing Sam with a steely glare. Their faces were level so Sam saw it perfectly._

_Dean’s eyes were black._

_“Get. Away. From. Me.” Dean hissed in a low and threatening tone._

_Sam didn’t need to be told twice. He jumped across the room as if burned. “Dean, what… what the HELL is going on?” Sam gasped._

_Dean’s answering smirk was made all the more intimidating by the inky black pools that were now his eyes. “Heya, Sammy. It’s just me. Your big brother, Dean. Something wrong?”_

_Sam opened his mouth but nothing came out. His mouth was dry. He supposed if he thought about it he’d recognize that he was in shock, but at the moment it was all he could do to keep looking at Dean. To stare at Dean’s eyes, specifically. It was as if it were physically impossible for him to look anywhere else._

_“Hmm? Cat got your tongue?” Dean mimed looking confused for a second and then made a show of snapping his fingers as if suddenly realizing something important. “Oh, yeah! The demon thing, right? Is that it?”_

_When Sam still refused to answer he seemed to become irritated. “What, too GOOD to talk to your brother now? Ha. You always were a hypocrite. Probably can’t speak because you’re too SCARED. The fear is eating away at you about now, right?” The frown on his face morphed into a smile that looked sick and twisted on Dean’s face with those eyes. It was wrong, all wrong. “Well, I’ll tell you something, Sammy. **You should be.** ”_

_In a raw display of strength Dean stood and grabbed the chair by the bed and ripped the legs off with his bare hands. He stomped on what was left of the chair and ground it beneath his boot, turning it to dust. He then yanked the guns off their displays on the wall one by one and smashed them, crushed them, stomped on them, and tore them apart with his bare hands as easily as one would a pastry. When he was done with that he simply set upon tearing the room apart. He threw the bed, kicked whatever debris was on the floor and threw anything he could find. Through it all he kept his cold black eyes trained on Sam’s._

_When it was over, when there was nothing left to destroy Dean just stood there glaring at Sam. He should have been panting, but he showed no signs of exhaustion and appeared as cool as ice. “See, Sammy? THIS is what I’m going to do to you if you don’t stay the hell away from me. I will END you. I will DESTROY you. SO STAY AWAY FROM ME!” For the first time Dean lost his cool as he shouted at Sam._

_And it was that moment that Sam knew what Dean was doing: protecting him._

_Protecting him from all the dangers his being a demon could entail. Protecting him the same way he’d been doing his entire life. Always protecting him, even if he didn’t want it. Except this time, Dean was protecting him from himself._

_“You can stop the whole ‘Big Bad Demon’ act now, Dean,” Sam said and lifted his head to glare at Dean. “I know this is all just macho bullshit to get me to leave you so you can go off on your own.”_

_“Sam…”_

_“No! This is just more of that ‘protect Sammy’ shit, isn’t it? When are you going to realize I don’t need you to protect me anymore?”_

_"Maybe when you can clean up your own messes without screwing everything up for once? Because you need it? Because I need it? Take your pick!” Dean shouted back, venom clear in his voice._

_Sam flinched as if he’d been slapped. “You’re right. Maybe you should go. It’s probably for the best. You obviously don’t need my help now that you’re a DEMON.”_

_Dean’s eyes had remained locked with Sam’s ever since he’d opened them, never once straying for so much as a second. So Sam was able to see the brief flash of hurt cross Dean’s features, even with the black eyes, before the same expressionless mask he’d been wearing slipped back into place._

_Sam didn’t know if it was a trick of the light or just wishful thinking, but he could have sworn he’d seen a flicker of green as Dean turned away to leave, and every bit of his resolve crumbled instantly. He grabbed Dean’s sleeve and held it tightly between his fingers, like a child silently begging his parent not to leave them alone. His grip tightened as he felt Dean stiffen. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I?” He whispered. “Hurting you. Letting you down. Like always.”_

_Dean shook his head, but still did not turn to face Sam. “No. No, you’re doing the right thing by letting me go.”_

_“How many times have I thought I was doing the right thing when I was only hurting the ones I care about? Dammit Dean, let me help you this time. You didn’t give up on me when I was addicted to demon blood or even when I was soulless, or during the trials. I’m not giving up on you. Ever. It’s my turn to save your ass for once, and I don’t care what I have to do to do that.”_

_“Sam…” Dean’s voice came, low and a little gruff, to Sam’s ears and it sounded so much like the old Dean it was music to his ears. “Don’t… being with me is a huge risk, and- and I’m not willing to risk your life again. Don’t ask me to. Don’t make me take that risk. I can’t. I just can’t.”_

_“Just… please don’t go. Dean- I… I need you, okay?” His voice was barely audible, but Dean heard it loud and clear._

_I need you._

_Those three words rang in Dean’s ears. He repeated them over and over in his head, like a mantra, because he just couldn’t believe they had really come out of Sam’s mouth. Really, that was all Dean needed: to know that he was needed. That his shitty life had a purpose._

_And that did it. Dean’s mask, the act he was putting on in an attempt to scare Sam away, shattered to pieces. He could never refuse Sam anything, especially not when he sounded so desperate. Never._

_Dean turned to face Sam, and his eyes were the same bright shining green Sam had been gazing into his entire life. Sam’s own eyes were suddenly burning and he pulled his big brother into an embrace._

_This time, finally, Dean hugged back just as tightly. Sam was so elated to feel Dean reciprocating he wasn’t surprised he couldn’t stop a few of the tears in his eyes from escaping. He smiled a little when he felt Dean leaving a similar wet spot on his shoulder. Regardless that he’d surely be embarrassed about it later, Sam continued to cling to Dean like a lifeline long past their normal amount of contact._

_When they finally pulled apart Sam was pleased to see Dean’s eyes were still green. He idly wondered if Dean could control it like other demons seemed able to, and continued to stare before becoming aware Dean was speaking to him. “I’m sorry… what?”_

_Dean sighed. “Enough with the meaningful eye contact crap. This is all one huge chick flick and it’s making me sick. I was saying, if we do this, we do this MY way.”_

_“And what way is that, exactly? Care to share the master plan?” Sam asked, raising an eyebrow._

_“I’m working on it.”_

_“Well… what do you want?”_

_Dean furrowed his eyebrows, confused. “What do I want? What do you mean?”_

_“I mean… what do you WANT? Crowley told me you’re off the hook, at least for now. Apparently your ‘services are not required at this time’, whatever that means.”_

_“Yeah, I remember him saying something like that after I woke up… huh. I dunno… kind of leaves me with the heebie jeebies. Since when does Crowley ever let us off easy? And without it coming back to bite us in the ass?”_

_“I know, it smells fishy, I smell it too. But… why look a gift horse in the mouth?”_

_Dean shrugged. “I guess… Either way, we’ll find out how he’s screwing us over this time later.” He paused. “Sam, look-”_

_He didn’t even need to finish his sentence. “Dean, no. We’re sticking together, whether you’re calling the shots or not. End of story.”_

_Dean gave a long, irritated groan. “Uggghhhh, why can’t things be black and white the way they used to be? Before all this angels and demons shit happened? And you used to actually listen to me at least part of the time?”_

_Sam looked momentarily stunned before a small smile crept on his face. He’d just gotten an idea. Who knows if it would actually work, but he was willing to give it a try. “Dean, why don’t we?”_

_“Huh?”_

_“Let’s do it. Let’s go on the road, just us two, the way we used to. No big picture stuff. Just us and the open road. Saving people, hunting things, the family business, right?”_

_Dean bit his lip. “It can’t be that easy. You know it’d never work.”_

_“Why not? Crowley’s god knows where. Cas is dealing with Metatron. What’s stopping us? And it’s not all or nothing. We stay gone only as long as we feel like.”_

_Sam watched eagerly as Dean struggled internally for a few more seconds. He turned to him with, for the first time in a long long time, hope in his eyes. “You mean it?”_

_Sam smiled. “Of course.”_

_Dean laughed, actually laughed. “Let’s do it.”_

Sam sighed. “Of course I’m not sure. Far from it. I could potentially be making the greatest mistake of my life for all I know.” He finally looked up and met Dean’s eyes with a crooked, tentative smile. “Let’s do it.”

Dean’s answering smile was all human.

* * *

 

Dean had supposedly wanted to get as far away as possible. His mood seemed to improve the further away from the bunker they got. He’d even sang “Back In Black” at the top of his lungs, and the irony hadn’t been lost on either of them (he’d even flashed his eyes black once). Sam had simply rolled his eyes at his big brother’s antics.

It was so typical, so _Dean,_ for him to make a joke about a very serious situation, such as his new status as a demon. Dean should really be taking this more seriously… but the more he thought about it, wasn’t it a good thing? It meant Dean was being Dean. Not even losing his humanity could change his demeanor; smartass comments, sarcasm, and pop culture references included. The thought made Sam smile, a real smile, like he hadn’t in a long time.

Dean raised an eyebrow. Sam shook his head in response. It wasn’t something he could easily explain.

They finally stopped for the night in a seedy looking motel after about nine hours of driving, only stopping for the occasional rest stop for Sam. It was strange for him to think that they were only stopping because _he_ needed to, though. Usually it was Dean pushing to stop and take a break. But now that he was a demon, he didn’t need that.

Sam’s stomach churned.

When they arrived at their motel Sam got out of the car to get their room while Dean parked. When he returned he found Dean standing in front of the trunk with a look of intense concentration on his face. “What’s up?” Sam asked, mildly curious.

Dean grit his teeth as he answered. “I don’t know if I can open the trunk.” For a supposedly all-powerful demon, he looked remarkably like a five year old told he couldn’t have dessert.

Sam couldn’t take it anymore. All the stress, the tension building inside him for who knows how long, left him as his shoulders slumped. He’d been on edge for days and he just couldn’t do it anymore. That was his reasoning as he doubled over with laughter, laughing so hard tears streamed down his face. It sounded hysterical, even to his own ears, but he couldn’t stop. Maybe he was finally having a nervous breakdown or a psychotic break or something. He found he didn’t care as he heard Dean laughing along with him.

* * *

 

Their first hunt was a Werewolf hunt in a small town in Montana.

There were already two corpses, both killed with their hearts ripped out on the nights of the full moon. Classic Were hunt, and Sam was more than confident in identifying it as so.

So he really should have been more prepared.

They were in the forest where the two victims had been killed, waiting for the wolf to show. Against Sam’s better judgement, they’d split up because they didn’t know from which direction the wolf would come from. It was dark, he couldn’t see or hear his big brother, and that made Sam nervous. Logically, he knew that was ridiculous; his brother was a demon now, but… old habits die hard.

Suddenly, Sam heard a branch snap behind him. Instinctively, he knew it wasn’t Dean.

He barely had enough time to turn around before the four-legged creature was on top of him, trying to sink it’s fangs into his neck and tear his heart out. It snarled and growled and snapped its jaws as it tried to kill its prey, something that should have alerted Dean already. In the scuffle, he lost his grip on his gun with silver bullets in it. And with the wolf on top of him, it was impossible to reach the silver knife stuck inside his boot.

Double shit.

“Dean!” Sam called out. No answer.

Sam only had one thought as he fought the losing battle of keeping the wolf’s claws out of his chest.

Where was Dean?


	2. Chapter 2

_Come with me._  
  
_We took a back road._  
 _We're gonna look at the stars._  
 _We took a backroad in my car._  
 _Down to the ocean,_  
 _it’s only water and sand_  
 _And in the ocean we'll hold hands._  
  
_But I don't really like you, apologetically dressed in the best, but on a heartbeat glide._  
  
_Without an answer, the thunder speaks for the sky, and on the cold, wet dirt I cry._  
 _And on the cold, wet dirt I cry._  
  
_Don’t you wanna come with me? Don’t you wanna feel my bones_  
 _on your bones?_  
 _It's only natural._

_-Bones by The Killers_

** CHAPTER TWO- A LITTLE LOVE IN THE DARK **

Dean was currently having second thoughts about this whole thing.

Would Crowley keep his promise to leave them the fuck alone? Would other demons or even angels show up and put a wrench in their plans to stay off the radar? Would he would be able to keep Sam safe from everything- Including himself?

Because he could feel it. This black energy inside him- this dark _thing_ inside him that wanted to rip, tear, and kill something, anything- It wanted blood. It wanted to destroy anything in its path to get it. It was always there, just below the surface, waiting for him to let his guard down and take control if he so much as slipped a millimeter on his grip on whatever was left of his humanity.

He had no idea how long he could keep this part of himself at bay, but he’d be damned if he let it hurt Sam.

So before that happened, he’d leave. Sam would be pissed and would no doubt look for him, but Dean knew if he didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t be found. Especially if he was some kind of demonic mindless killer at that point. But for now, he felt as good as to be expected, all things considered. Maybe even better than expected, actually. He knew there was only one reason for that: Sam.

Dean knew he should leave, but he just couldn’t make himself do it. He was just selfish that way, he supposed, always wanting to be around what was too good for him (Dad, Sam, _Lisa, Ben_ ).

And… he was stopping that train of thought right there.

_Shit._ Without even realizing it, he must’ve been pacing, his body instinctively moving as he entertained the thought of leaving Sam , because he sure as heck wasn’t in the proper position he and Sam had agreed upon. His new demon mind worked slightly differently than when he’d been human; he found he could concentrate like never before and yet the passage of time ceased to mean much.

Dammit, Sam was so much better at this angsty, brooding thing. Turning around to head back to his assigned spot to wait for the werewolf, he decided he’d just go back to being the fun brother and Sam could be the moody one.

With his supernatural hearing, he had no trouble hearing a branch snap from the direction where Sam was supposed to be. _Son of a bitch!_ That was probably the wolf. A few seconds later he heard a loud thump and Sam’s grunts as, Dean assumed, he fought off the wolf. He broke into a run, and when he began hearing the wolf’s snarls he pumped his legs as fast as they would go- which was pretty fast as it turns out, arriving behind the wolf in mere seconds.

Thankfully the wolf hadn’t heard him, either because he was a lot more graceful as a demon or it was simply too busy trying to make a meal out of Sam’s heart. Without hesitating Dean pulled out his gun loaded with silver bullets and aimed at the wolf’s head; he couldn’t aim for its heart with it on top of Sam. He fired and the wolf slumped over and fell off Sam. Dean fired one more shot directly into its heart and the job was done..

Sam still lay on the ground, panting slightly, his body lax with relief. Dean went to him and held out his hand to help Sam up. Sam sat up and took it, but instead of pulling himself up he gripped it tightly and stared into Dean’s eyes with such intensity it almost made Dean uncomfortable. “You came,” he said quietly, almost reverently.

“Uh… yeah. It’s kind of my job to save your ass, Sammy.”

Sam smiled. “I knew you would.”

Dean had been fooling himself if he even for one second thought he could up and leave Sam.

* * *

 

“Hey, I think I found us a hunt.”

“Really? Do tell.” Dean had been on a food run and set the bags down in front of Sam on the little table in their motel room. Sam didn’t look up from his laptop once.

“Yeah, in a small town in Minnesota four women found dead, strangled, in this past month alone.”

“And what makes you think it’s our kind of gig?” Dean began pulling the food out of the bags and before he even took a bite of his burger pushed Sam’s requested salad towards him. Sam got so wrapped up in research and the hunt that he forgot to eat sometimes, especially with Dean no longer eating regular meals.

“Well, four people have been arrested, one for each murder, and it looks like the cops have a really good case against all of them… except they’re all claiming their memory of the victims is fuzzy at best and, get this, a voice in their head made them do it and they had no control over their body.”

Dean unpacked his own food and dug into his bacon cheeseburger with gusto. He technically didn’t need to eat, but he insisted on doing it every now and then anyways. It made him feel normal… and as a bonus, he didn’t need to worry about any impending heart attacks from his not-exactly-healthy-but-he-didn’t-give-a-damn diet. “Is there anything connecting the victims?”

“Yeah: they were all in relationships with their supposed killers.” Finished filling his brother in, Sam grabbed his salad and took a small bite.

Dean swallowed a particularly large bite of his burger and said “Sounds witchy to me… but are you sure its not just people?”

“I dunno Dean… I just have a feeling we should really check this one out, at least.” He looked at Dean from across the table with his large dewy hazel eyes… Dean cursed his inability to say no to those eyes, and Sam in general.

“All right, all right. Just stop looking at me like that, jeez!”

Sam had the audacity to look innocent. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“Sure you don’t. But if this turns out to not be our kind of thing, you SO owe me.”

If Sam had any idea of what would happen on this hunt, he might not have fought so hard for it.

If Dean had any idea of what would happen on this hunt, he might not have given in so easily.

Then again… maybe they wouldn’t change a damn thing.

XXX

“Well, that was helpful,” Dean muttered as they exited the prison where they’d interviewed the men and one woman arrested in the series of murders. They’d talked and talked but hadn’t learned much of anything new.

Something was bothering Sam though… a thought in the back of his mind that wouldn’t leave him alone since they’d talked to the suspects. Looking at the victims and comparing them with their suspected killers, it didn’t quite fit.

Leslie was a heavyset woman whom everyone in town said never had a boyfriend  to their knowledge until one day out of the blue she showed up with Tom, a man everyone whispered behind her back was too good for her, too handsome.

Kelsie was a cute young girl in her twenties… who was with a man more than twice her age. Her friends swore up and down that Kelsie had previously been into guys her own age before one day, out of the blue, she showed up with Alex.

Tammy was a beautiful successful businesswoman, and one day became attached at the hip to Mark… a married man. Her family couldn’t believe she would do something like that.

Samantha was another girl in her twenties… in a relationship with Savannah, a girl from her school, though no one who knew her had any idea she swung that way.

They were all opposites. The kind that would normally have very limited contact with each other, let alone enter into a relationship. Not just that, but the suspects all said the same thing: prior to two or three months ago, depending on when they got together, they basically had no idea the person they were supposed to have killed existed. Leslie simply said “Hello,” to Tom one morning in the office and he suddenly was smitten like never before, never mind that he already had a girlfriend. It was like he couldn’t control it. Same for Alex. Same for Mark. Same for Savannah.

Sam tried to explain all of this to Dean, but he seemed doubtful. He’d just have to do more research later, or maybe in the morning. He was pretty tired for some reason…

Per Sam’s request, they went back to their motel early.

When they arrived Dean noticed Sam went straight to his bed, barely bothering to take off his shoes before crawling on top and curling up into a ball. Dean knew that meant Sam was feeling utterly miserable. He strode over and put a palm on Sam’s forehead then yanked it back immediately.

“Son of a bitch! You are burning up! Sam, why didn’t you say anything earlier?” Sam merely groaned in response and proceeded to curl up into an even tighter ball. Tentatively, Dean put his palm back to Sam’s forehead and braced himself for the heat. This time he held it there long enough to determine Sam was most definitely sweating, which was troublesome considering he was also shivering.

“Dean,” Sam breathed, his voice sounding weak as he looked, “Something’s wrong… not… not natural.”

“What’s not- oh, you mean your fever?”

Sam nodded. “Hex bag,” he muttered.

“Right.” Dean leapt up and started searching the room. If they suspected they were dealing with a witch she might be behind Sam’s fever, which meant a hex bag… somewhere.

**_Ten Minutes Later…_ **

“Dean, I-I need… What’s happening to me?”

Dean frantically searched for the hex bag that must be hidden in the confines of the room… but where? He threw things, tore things, destroyed things, in his search for it. But no dice. “Sam I-I can’t find it.” He said, sounding every bit as defeated as he felt. “SON OF A BITCH!” He yelled as he kicked a chair across the room, breaking it into pieces.

“Make it stop. Please Dean, just make it stop!” Sam had somehow managed to curl himself into an even tighter ball than before, but now he was trembling even harder. He sounded like he was in so much pain that Dean felt it too; almost a real physical pain in his chest. Anything that hurt Sam hurt him too.

“Tell me what you need.” Dean turned to Sam, who muffled another groan of pain. “Dammit, tell me what’s wrong?” he grabbed Sam’s arm and nearly dropped it out of shock. Sam’s skin was so hot it almost hurt to touch. It was as if his whole body was burning with the fever.

Sam slowly turned to face him then and Dean got his first look at his little brother’s… problem. The ‘Fed’ suit he’d been wearing to interview suspects didn’t do much to hide his sizeable erection.

“Um, uh, oh. OH.” Sam needed _that_ kind of help. Dean didn’t think he’d be much use there. But then Sam moaned again, sounding even weaker this time.

_‘Oh, it’s obvious what he wants, so just do it.’_ A voice inside Dean’s head whispered. He knew it was the demon inside him speaking.

_‘No.’_

_‘But who knows what will happen to him if he doesn’t get what he NEEDS. He might DIE.’_

_‘He’s my little brother.’_

He doubted he’d be able to get it up, for that matter. And Sam obviously wasn’t in his right mind, it’d practically be… Fuck, why was he even thinking about this at all? It wasn’t even an option, right? But then again Dean almost felt like he needed this too. The witch’s magic must not have worked on him because he was a demon, though now that he thought about it he recognized its pull. It was telling him to go to Sam…

He’d been looking for an opportunity for a, release of sorts from the tension building inside him for a while now… ‘ _and here’s Sam, ready and willing. Who cares what hole you pound into as long as it’s nice and hot and tight-‘_

“Dean!” Sam’s voice broke through Dean’s internal struggle. He sounded more urgent and yet somehow weaker at the same time. He could see it, feel the way Sam’s body was burning hotter by the minute. If he didn’t do something Sam would most likely die soon. He’d always said he’d do anything for Sammy…

Now was the time to put that to the test.

“I got ya, Sammy. Don’t worry.” Sam’s breathing seemed to slow down the tiniest bit, as if hearing Dean’s voice reassured and calmed him.

With shaking hands Dean dug through his duffel until he found what he was looking for- a small bottle of lube leftover from a one night stand long ago. He didn’t know much about gay sex, or ever wanted to know anything about gay sex for that matter, but he knew the very basics: you had to open up the bottom with your fingers, and the whole process went A LOT easier with lube.

Dean strode over to the bed and looked into Sam’s eyes. Through the slightly glassy wide eyes he was able to find what he needed to give him the courage to commit this damning act: Sam was scared. And he needed his big brother to make it better.

“I’m going to take care of you, okay? I’m not going to hurt you. This will all be over soon,” Dean whispered. Sam’s eyes were locked onto Dean’s, searching. He apparently found what he was looking for, as he took a deep shaky breath and nodded his approval.

And what did Dean see? A trust so all-encompassing that it was nearly blinding in its intensity. Love and adoration. Acceptance. Anything and everything Dean ever needed was right here, staring at him.

Without hesitation Dean climbed on the bed and hovered over Sam, immediately stripping him of every stitch of clothing. When the pants and boxers were on the floor Sam’s face turned tomato red (it was actually a pretty color especially after Sam being so pale, but no there was no way Dean was analyzing that). Dean took pity on him and didn’t look too closely- it’s not like he wanted to see it anyway-… but Sam was _generously_ endowed, no denying that. Dean was no slouch either, far from it, but there may be something to that height thing after all.

He slicked his fingers up with lube and proceeded to put a finger up his brother’s ass. Sam gasped at the unexpected intrusion and strangely… it was kind of a turn on. After a minute of fingering he added another one, now using a scissoring motion. Sam’s breath came in quick gasps, almost panting. Dean looked down at himself, specifically at the tent in his jeans. Okay, managing an erection clearly wasn’t going to be an issue. He really didn’t want to think about what that meant… so he added another finger. Sam made a face, but when he began moving them he gasped… and moaned. The sound went straight to Dean’s cock and he didn’t think he could wait any longer.

“Are you, uh, ready?” Dean asked, just to be sure. He was relieved when his little brother nodded. He withdrew his fingers. With his knee he nudged Sam’s legs open until he was spread eagle, earning a blush from the taller man. He lined his cock up with Sam’s hole and slowly began to enter a little at a time. But the second he entered Sam’s body… it was like nothing he’d ever felt before; nothing could even compare. When he was all the way in he had to fight not to immediately start pounding into Sam straight away. He didn’t want to hurt Sam so he waited. Sam opened his eyes a little and took a shaky breath and nodded his head slightly, he knew.

Dean began to move. Slow rolls of his hips at first, but quickly sped up his pace when he heard Sam’s reaction. Sam gasped and writhed under Dean. His breath came in breathy little pants of “ _ah ah ah_ ” and egged Dean on to move faster.

After a particularly deep thrust Sam _moaned._ It was so loud and sensual it brought to mind more than a few porn flicks Dean had seen; good ones. Dean rammed harder; Sam moaned louder.

Dean began to pound into Sam relentlessly, earning more delicious moans even louder than before as he chased his own release. A few more well-aimed thrusts and Sam was coming undone for him, practically screaming as he came.

_“Dean, aaaah!”_

And that was it. Dean followed Sam’s orgasm with his own, calling out Sam’s name. He rocked into Sam, riding out their orgasms and simply enjoying the way Sam looked, felt, and sounded beneath him for as long as possible. Panting lightly, plump mouth parted, slick sweaty skin that smelled like the two of them combined, hazel eyes blown so wide you could barely see the irises…If he’d still been a human, or a teenager, he probably would have come all over again just from watching Sam.

Shit, Dean felt exhausted. It must be a mental thing, because why would a demon get worn out from sex? Pretty awesome sex, yeah. If he was human he’d definitely be asleep already.

When his breathing started to slow back down to a normal pace, Dean came back to his senses enough to realize he was still inside Sam. He peeked at Sam to see if he’d noticed and… it looked like he was… asleep. Huh. He gently pulled out of his little brother and tried not to think about all the cum he’d left inside Sam’s hole because he hadn’t bothered to use a condom or how good, downright comfortable it felt inside him. It had felt like the home he’d never had.

Then the full weight of what he’d done slammed into him like he’d just crashed the Impala into a wall of bricks at a million miles an hour.

He’d just had sex. With his _little brother._ Oh god. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to stab himself in the heart all over again with the First Blade. He wanted to- No… he wanted to _kill_ something. Perhaps in other circumstances it might have been himself… but there was a witch out there somewhere that would do just fine.

* * *

 

Sam woke up feeling surprisingly rested. That is, until he sat up in bed and stretched and felt a dull burn in his… ass? Huh? And then it all came back to him. Oh god. He’d had sex with his _brother._

Oh god. Oh god. No no no no way. No way. No no no no no no no. It had to be some kind of dream- nightmare. Right? But the pain in his lower back and ass was definitely real and he felt as if he might have some bruises on his hips and… yup. He shifted on the bed. There was the evidence between his legs, though, uh. Less than he would have thought based on how it’d felt last night…

Bile rose in his throat as he bent and put his head between his knees. He took a breath, and another, another, not getting enough air, he was breathing too fast- where was Dean? Dean, Dean, oh god Dean wasn’t there he left he left he left-

XXX

Dean hadn’t intended on coming back.

There was no way he could stay with Sam now. Not after what he’d done. Done and _liked._ A lot more than he should. He’d violated his little brother in the worst way possible and yet- yet… it had felt so _right_ in the moment, he had a hard time feeling sorry. Maybe it was just the demon talking. And god, what did that say about him? He must have less control over his inner demon than he thought.

But for the life of him he couldn’t leave without seeing his little brother one more time. He’d tried. Oh, he’d tried. He’d started out driving in the opposite direction of their motel only to find himself making a (very illegal) U-turn without consciously thinking about it less than half a minute later.

He had no right to see Sam after what he’d done. He knew that. If Sam had any idea what he was planning to do, to see him, he’d be disgusted. Outraged. He wouldn’t be surprised if Sam tried to kill him. Heck, he fucking _deserved_ to have Sam rip him to shreds after the way he’d betrayed his trust last night. It would be a mercy.

Still… he’d counted on those last few days or weeks or however long he had until it was no longer safe to be with Sam. He’d banked on them. And now that they were gone, ripped away just like that… he was having a hard time letting go. So he had to see Sam. One last time. To say goodbye… or something else; he didn’t know. He just had to.

Five minutes. That was all Dean would allow himself or he may never be able to find the strength to leave again, regardless of what Sam wanted.

All that flew out the window when he saw his little brother on the bed, panicking and calling out for him-

“Sam? Sammy? You gotta calm down, okay?” Dean rushed over to sit in front of Sam on the bed. When he didn’t react Dean inched closer and put his hand on Sam’s chest right over his heart. Just like he used to. “Breath with me. C’mon Sam, breathe with me. Just like this.”

That seemed to break Sam out of whatever trance he’d been in. He looked up and finally seemed to _see_ Dean. His eyes latched onto Dean’s like he was a man lost at sea and they were a raft to take him to safety. It made Dean feel sick because Sam should NOT be reacting to him like that; where was the screaming, the yelling, the hatred?

After a few seconds Sam’s features smoothed out as he began to breathe with Dean, never taking his eyes off him for even a second.

Ignoring the fact that he was still touching Sam and his body would not listen to him to let go, when Sam’s breathing was close enough to normal Dean asked, “Are you okay? What happened?”

Sam shrugged. “Are you staying?” His tone made it sound like the most obvious question in the world even though to Dean it made no sense. But he whispered it, as if he almost didn’t want to be heard, as if afraid to hear the answer.

Dean wanted to say “No.” or “I’m sorry…” or maybe even the final “Goodbye.” He wanted to ask “Does it matter?” or “Why do you care?” He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs “You know this can’t work, not after what we did.” And most of all “How can you stand to even look at me? Be near me? Aren’t you fucking disgusted?”

He wanted to say all of them. He wanted to say none of them. Instead he said “I… uh, yeah. _Yeah.”_

Sam’s body nearly gave out with relief, it was that obvious to Dean. With his hand still on Sam’s chest he could feel it happen and simply let Sam lean against him; Sam’s giant head falling in the crook of Dean’s shoulder. It somehow fit perfectly as if it were made for him. He was supporting nearly all of Sam’s weight, but he didn’t care. This would be the last time he’d allow himself to touch Sam like this so he was going to enjoy it to the fullest.

Dean buried his face in Sam’s silky hair and let his scent wash over him, memorizing it with every fiber of his being.

XXX

Sam had no idea how long they’d stayed like that. It could have been minutes but it felt like hours. He only knew that it felt like the most comfortable thing he’d ever felt in his life.

After a while, Dean had suggested he take a shower, and he’d agreed. He smelt of sweat and sleep and… sex and lest he not forget every time he shifted, he felt a tiny bit of Dean’s cum in his ass.

As he showered Sam wondered why he was suddenly being so clingy; it felt strange even to him. But Dean hadn’t left; hadn’t shown any disgust or hatred towards Sam because of what he’d made him do last night. _Because it was Sam’s fault; it was always his fault-_

Dean was still here and that was all he needed.

They could deal with whatever came their way together, including the events of last night. But when Sam came out of the shower and Dean was sitting at the table in the kitchenette area of the room staring at the screen of Sam’s laptop, Sam knew. He could tell by Dean’s body language. Dean was shutting him out. It didn’t take any words.

What Sam suspected was confirmed when without looking up Dean said two words- “Witches, man.”

Sam recognized it for what it was: a dismissal.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

** Chapter Three- Blood: **

_I'm only joking_   
_I don't believe a thing I've said_   
_What are you smoking?_   
_I'm just a-fucking with your head_   
_Only a crazy little thing I read_

_-“I’m Only Joking” by KONGOS_

* * *

 

Every time Sam asked about the witch the only thing Dean would say was “I took care of it.” It didn’t matter how many times Sam asked, the answer was always the same. Eventually he just gave up and decided to trust Dean. They left the state and headed towards a new hunt.

They carried on much like they had before. Working case after case… but that was it. No breaks in between. No stops to catch your breath. No nights at the local bar, just hanging out and eating and drinking beer. No watching the stars at night on the hood of the Impala. Fuck, they barely even talked to each other about anything _but_ the case of the week. Absolutely _nothing_ brotherly in nature at all. It was all business.

Well, Sam had finally gotten his wish from what seemed like so long ago. They truly were business partners and nothing more. Except, now that it was granted, he really _really_ wanted to hit something.

And touching? Touching was out of the question. It wasn’t even on Dean’s plane of existence. Ever since **that** morning he’d practically sidestepped him every time Sam came within several feet. Sam had gone to touch his shoulder once, in a casual manner to let Dean know he needed to talk to him, and Dean had literally jumped back a few feet before Sam came even close to making contact. He’d acted like nothing happened, but Sam could see the subtle way Dean had clenched his jaw.

It was beginning to be a problem on hunts. Sam had been forced to throw Dean a machete because he refused to come close enough to hand it to him, resulting in a zombie getting in the way and Dean getting bitten several times trying to make his way to it. For the first time Sam was thankful Dean wasn’t human. Sam didn’t want to think what would happen if this behavior kept up.

It hurt. Dean had never been touchy-feely, and neither had Sam for that matter, though he’d never had the same outright aversion to touch that his brother did. But they’d always made a bit of an exception for each other. A pat on the shoulder, a grip on the wrist if one was running for their life in the wrong direction, a clinical frisk to check for injuries, sitting next to each other in the Impala for hours on end, sleeping in the same room in twin beds thisclose…

It hurt. It fucking _hurt._ He hadn’t thought it would hurt this much, but it did. He’d never thought about how often they touched each other or how normal it was for them to be in such close proximity. The old saying, ‘you don’t know what you have until it’s gone’ came to mind.

The same question kept running around in his mind in an endless cycle: _Why does it matter?_ Then he’d think, _It **doesn’t** matter. I’m not going to think about it anymore. I’m done. I don’t care. _ And then Dean would refuse to even meet his eyes and he’d be right back where he started.

At the risk of sounding exactly like his brother, Sam really needed a fucking drink.

So there he was. Sitting alone at the table in their motel room with his laptop in front of him and his second beer nearly gone. They’d just finished a Vamp hunt in some town in Indiana a few hours ago and Dean was getting ready to head out to a bar before they left on yet another hunt in the morning. Sam hadn’t even _found_ a hunt yet, and Dean was insisting they leave anyway.

It was really starting to piss him off and he didn’t know how much longer he could take it.

It seemed almost inevitable that when Dean stepped out of the bathroom and was about to the leave the room without even a cursory glance at Sam, he snapped.

“ _Dean,”_ Sam started. He felt more than heard Dean pause with his hand still on the doorknob. “We need to talk about this sometime.” He turned around in his chair to face his brother.

“Talk about _what_?” Dean sounded like he was gritting his teeth.

“You know what,” Sam challenged.

“No, I don’t know, because there is NOTHING TO FUCKING TALK ABOUT. NOTHING HAPPENED, YOU HEAR ME? NOTHING.” Each word, shouted out with such venom, was punctuated with Dean tightening his grip on the doorknob until finally it snapped off and Dean, his eyes black as obsidian, was left holding this broken, _useless_ thing-

The broken, useless thing left more than a small dent in the wall when Dean threw it across the room in frustration.

Sam could only stare in wide-eyed shock. Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t this. Sure, he’d expected anger, a lot of it, but for Dean to just fly off the handle like this, after only a few words? It was unsettling, to say the least.

“Dean? Dean, just calm down, okay? I know you don’t want to talk about what happened-” He tried to keep his tone as nonthreatening as possible, despite his own anger threatening to get the best of him for Dean trying to get out of this talk yet again, but to no avail.

“ _What happened?_ Okay, fine. Ya got me. I know what happened, you know what happened, we all know what happened, right?” Dean threw his hands up in the air in mock exasperation.  “Only thing is, I wish to God _nothing_ had happened. _That night_ is going to haunt me for the rest of my life, or whatever pathetic excuse is left of it. So Sam, are we done _talking_ about it yet? Because I don’t think my stomach can take any more.”

It was absolutely pathetic, but with every word Dean snarled at him, Sam just… died a little more inside. Or more like, he finally realized he’d had it all wrong in the first place and this was simply what he should have been feeling the entire time.

It was all he could do to whisper out the words “Yeah. Yeah, we’re done here.” With every second it was becoming harder to ignore the burning sensation in his eyes.  He knew he was going to break down any second, but at that moment he’d rather die than have Dean see it.

“Yeah? Good talk,” Dean sneered. With that he was gone. Out of Sam’s sight. Out of Sam’s reach.

Out of Sam’s life.

Was it his fault that he couldn’t stop thinking about _that_ night? Was it his fault that it was the last thing on his mind before he went to sleep every night, staring at his brother’s outline laying in the other bed in the shadows? Was it his fault that he dreamed about it almost every night? Was it his fault that in the dark of the night, when he couldn’t sleep, he thought about what it might mean? What it could lead to?

Was it all his fault?

He didn’t want it to be. He hadn’t wanted any of this. He’d just wanted his body to stop feeling like it was on fire. And then he had just wanted to make some kind of sense of it. And then he had wanted to _understand_ it.

He didn’t want to long for something he couldn’t have. He didn’t mean to.

But he did.

Is that his fault?

Wasn’t _everything_ his fault?

As Sam slid to the floor and curled up in a ball, he thought he knew the answer.

* * *

 

Apparently, demons _can_ get totally shit-faced drunk.

Sure, it took nearly the entire bar and beating the ever-living shit out of the bartender, bouncers, and other patrons to get to it, but it was possible and that was all that mattered.

Dean stumbled to the door of his and Sam’s motel room. When he finally made it there without falling flat on his face he rested his forehead on the cool metal of the door, trying to make the world stop spinning. He fumbled for the doorknob with one hand, just wanting to get inside as soon as possible and pass out on a nice, lumpy motel bed. When his fingertips met with a gaping hole where the knob should have been he peeked a blurry eye open. It was then that he noticed the door had been left slightly ajar. He mentally shrugged and pushed the door open; it made his job easier. If it wasn’t for the fog of alcohol clouding his mind, he would have immediately been on alert- the door wasn’t locked because he had broken the knob.

Swaying unsteadily on his feet, Dean made his way to the bed closest to the door. With a loud protest of the bed springs he unceremoniously belly-flopped onto the bed. Just before the blackness took over a single thought clawed its way to the surface of his inebriated mind.

“Sammmyyyy… I’m shorry… sho shorryyy…”

XxXxXxXxXxXx

_Chirp chirp chirp chi-_

_BANG!!!_

The blue jay resting peacefully on a tree branch directly in front of the window of one Room 23 got a rude surprise as a bullet shot through the glass, missing the bird by less than an inch.

_“Shut. Up.”_ Dean Winchester hissed from his position splayed out on his stomach on top of the bed. He grabbed his head and groaned. Something told him firing a gun in a motel room and busting a window in the process wasn’t a good idea… but his _fucking head was fucking throbbing and that goddamn bird made it worse._

Slowly, ever so slowly, Dean shifted until he was in a sitting position on the edge of the bed. He blinked rapidly and rubbed the sleep out of eyes. So far, even demonic hangovers were a bitch. He searched the room with blurry eyes. “Sam?” Where was his little brother? Normally when Dean came home drunk out of his mind Sam had a bucket to puke in, water to rehydrate, and Ibuprofin for the inevitable headache. When he was feeling particularly solicitous he even had a greasy breakfast waiting for him. And now… nothing.

The memories of last night came flooding back to him. Oh yeah… they hadn’t exactly parted on good terms. Dean had seen Sam about to break down and he’d just _left him there._ One of the shittiest things he had ever done, and he’d done some pretty shitty things in his life… yeah, he definitely didn’t deserve breakfast. But he just had to seek his brother out and apologize and things would go back to normal; or whatever passed for it nowadays. He didn’t even know what normal was for them anymore.

“Sam? You’re not giving me the silent treatment are you? Saaaaaaammm?” Dean tried again. Silence. Okay, maybe Sam had just gone out to get coffee or something. Another cursory glance of the room revealed that all of Sam’s belongings were still where he’d left them- jacket thrown over the back of a chair, phone on the table, duffel next to the bed furthest from the door.

Maybe he should get off his ass and actually look around. Moving like molasses, Dean searched the room only to find out nothing more than what he’d been able to see from the bed. Long story short, his gigantor little brother was not here.

_Son of a bitch._ Alarm bells in his head were finally going off now. He hadn’t seen any visible signs of sulfur, so that ruled out demons at least. Fuck, he had to hurry this up. It’d been nearly five minutes since he’d fired that gun and though the motel wasn’t crowded by any means, surely someone would come investigate any second. But he couldn’t leave the room without knowing what happened to Sam…

“SHIT!” Dean kicked the nearest chair across the room, smashing it to pieces when it hit the wall. His blood was boiling. Something had taken Sam, that had to be it, because Sam just wouldn’t up and leave him like that _(would he?),_ no matter how angry he was, and he would find out what-

What was that on the floor?

Dean crouched and stared at a tiny spot on the floor. He hadn’t seen it because it’d been covered by the chair.

It looked like a single drop of blood.

Well, there was about to be a lot more of it, because whoever took Sam was going to be torn apart piece by bloody piece.

Dean would make sure of that with a smile on his face.

* * *

 

_Drip, drop. Drip, drop. Drip, drop._

The light plinks of droplets of liquid hitting something metallic slowly pulled Sam out of the black nothingness he’d fallen into. Something was wrong, he knew that much, as he struggled to reach full consciousness. It was cold… why was it so cold? He didn’t remember their hotel room being that cold and musty-smelling… he tried to open his eyes to see the room, but his eyelids felt like they were weighed down with cement blocks. They were so heavy… maybe he’d just go back to sleep…  When he tried to move to get more comfortable he realized he couldn’t. The all too familiar burn of rope binding his wrists slammed into him.

_He was in the dingy motel room, breaking down. His breathes were coming too fast for him to breathe. His eyes were welling up with tears too fast for him to see. The hitches in his breath were too loud for him to hear. He was falling apart and this time nothing would be able to put him back together._

_He was barely able to distinguish the sudden presence of a shadow coming from behind him. For one split second he thought, Dean. But it was wrong, all wrong, too tall and muscular. He turned around, reaching for the knife in his boots and-_

Fuck. Something must have gotten the drop on him. But there was nothing left to hunt in this town, they’d gotten the vampires… hadn’t they? Adrenaline running through his veins, Sam forced his eyes open and blinked to clear away the blurriness. He was in a large industrial-looking room with cement floors and… nothing else he could see. It was dark, but there was enough light from a small window behind him to illuminate the room just enough that he could see. Unfortunately the window was too small, just a slit in the wall really, not to mention too high for him to even think of reaching.

_Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop._

His quick visual scan of the room told him he was in a warehouse, probably in the middle of nowhere so no one could hear him scream. Fantastic. His arms were bound behind him and tied to the chair, tight. Same for his ankles. He couldn’t move worth a damn. He struggled to move his wrists even a tiny bit. Even if all he succeeded in doing was making himself bleed, that was fine. It might loosen the rope just enough for him to slip out if he bled enough.

_Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop._

Blood… blood… did he smell blood? He turned and searched the room with his eyes, craning his neck to look behind him again. The warm sticky sensation of something flowing down his neck finally reached him. He looked down and saw parts of his shirt were wet but it was too dim to see with what. But he could guess.

_Fwwwssssh._ Now the plinking sound that’d woken him up sounded almost like a faucet turned low, just enough to let a small stream of water through.

Vampires must be bleeding him.

Thankfully Sam was tall enough that even with his ankles bound he could just barely touch his heels to the floor. He struggled and kicked his feet out as much as he could to finally make the chair scooch back a few inches. Now in his line of sight was a metal pail to his left, sloshing as the chair nearly knocked it over. A thick dark liquid was inside it. Blood. The pail was collecting the blood from his neck. That was why his neck had been craned in that direction when he’d woken up. The vampires had probably counted on him _not_ waking up again.

The pail was a little over half full. He shivered. It must be the blood loss making him so cold. At a thump from the direction where he guessed the door was, though he couldn’t see it in great detail, Sam turned his head. His blood was quickly turning the floor around him red and made a harsh sound as it dropped.

A tall woman with long blonde hair and grungy, dated jeans and flannel walked in. Upon closer inspection he could see the hair was tangled and mated, and her pale skin was covered in dirt. Not to mention she reeked of a combination of scents that could only mean the woods, and mostly, blood. Vampire.

“Now see here, Hunter,” she said in a thick Southern accent as she stopped directly in front of him, only a foot or two in between them, “That vampire nest you just slaughtered? They were my cousins. My family. And you don’t mess with my family. So now I am going to kill you. Nice. And. Slow. I am going to rip off one your limbs for every member of my family you killed. But first, I’m going to make good use of that sweet, sweet blood pumping through your veins.”

Sam spat in her face, making sure to aim for her eyes. “Yeah? You and what army? All I see is a lone backwards reject.”

The vampire glared at him before composing herself and bringing her hands to her mouth in mock surprise. “Oh, how rude of me! I’m so sorry, I forgot to introduce the rest of my family. Thems baaad manners,” she drawled. “Hey y’all, come on in and join the party!”

The doors burst open as twenty vampires made their way into the warehouse. 

“Meet my family. They’ve been _dying_ to meet you. Every. Single. One. Of. Them... And darlin’ I have a _big_ family.”

* * *

 

“I’m going to ask you one more time- Where. Is. My. Brother?”

“I don’t-”

_Squuiiiish._

The vampire screamed as the blade twisted deeper into its stomach. The blade went full circle, blood flowing sluggishly from the wound.

“Where- _stab_ -is- _stab-_ my- _stab_ -brother- _stab_?”

Dean had found the vampire while searching around the town for Sam. It had been running towards the outskirts of the town with purpose, obviously heading somewhere it deemed important… so naturally he used his newfound demonic abilities to capture the thing and inject it with dead man’s blood. Nice and compliant for questioning. The bloodsucker howled in agony with every stab of Dean’s blade. It wouldn’t kill her until he _wanted_ it to kill her.

Dean laughed.

“I’ll- I’ll tell you okay, just- stop. Please stop,” it sobbed. It looked like a woman, but he wasn’t fooled. These monsters were all the same. It wasn’t like she was a ‘vegetarian’ or anything, so he felt completely justified in what he was doing. She might know where Sam was, after all. Why shouldn’t he have a little fun with it?

“Hmmm… Start talking. But make it quick, or I have a lot more where that dead man’s blood came from.” He lifted a syringe full of it for good measure.

The vampire nodded. “Our leader told us to come to her. That she needed all of us for something important.”

“What was it?”

“I don’t know, she didn’t say- AAAAHHHHH!“ In the blink of an eye the syringe was sticking out of her throat, poison flowing through her veins. “I swear I don’t know! I don’t know!”

“Where’s your Alpha?” Dean growled.

“S-Some old warehouse… past the abandoned library on Jefferson. I told you what you wanted to know, not let me g- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!” The blade twisted in her guts once, twice, thrice. “But that’s not fair! You said-”

“I know what I said. But how do I know you’re telling the truth? This could be a trap. And honey, didn’t your mother ever tell you demons lie?” Dean sneered as his eyes flashed black.

She screamed.

He laughed.

* * *

 

There was a buzzing in his ears… it was so loud… getting louder… why wouldn’t it let him sleep? All he wanted to do was sleep. He was so tired… but the buzzing grew louder still. He mentally groaned and tried to push past the fog in his mind. His eyes felt like they were weighed down with lead. _Does this feel familiar?_ But then a familiar voice reached his ears and his eyes shot open instantly. His body protested, the flesh torn after vampire after vampire had taken their turns biting him before he’d passed out.

And there Dean was. Laughing. Smiling with glee as he grabbed vampire after vampire and cut their heads off with a machete. Some he played with, stabbing them repeatedly and slicing and dicing. His laugh was pure joy when they screamed, screamed for mercy or just in agony. And the runners, those were his favorites. Any that tried to escape met a slow, painful end. It was a relief when the blade finally severed their heads from their necks. A kindness.

The leader of the vampire nest could do little but scream as she watched her family be slaughtered in front of her. It was painfully obvious there was nothing she could do to stop it. Nothing could stop Dean. Nothing could stop a Knight of Hell.

But when a male vampire’s, her mate’s, head rolled to stop at her feet she couldn’t stay still a moment longer. She screamed and lunged at Dean, claws and fangs bared.

She was dead before she hit the ground.

Her head rolled directly in front of Sam’s chair, frozen in a picture of wild rage.

“That- _stab_ -will- _stab_ -teach- _stab_ -you- _stab_ -to- _stab_ -take- _stab-_ what’s- **mine**.”  Dean hadn’t spoken the entire assault on the vampire’s nest, but now he yelled, rage making his voice thick and guttural. He continued to stab and mutilate the corpse until there was practically nothing left of it, it was just a mass of red.

Red. That was all Sam could see. Every surface in the room was coated, soaked, saturated in it. Even Sam; he could feel the sticky warmth flowing down his face, his neck, his arms… but especially Dean. It was in his hair, flowing down his face and neck, and his clothes and boots were absolutely saturated in it. There was literally not a single surface that wasn’t covered in red. The room had become a proverbial ocean of blood.

How had this happened?

“Dean,” Sam whispered. His voice was hoarse and thin; it took almost everything he had in him to get that one word out. The world spun when he tried to sit up a little straighter to get Dean’s attention. Nothing. Dean just kept on his primitive growling as he continued to mutilate the leader’s corpse. “Dean, she’s dead already. Stop. Stop, just stop. DEAN!”

Silence hung over the room like a heavy storm cloud ready to downpour at any second.

Sam slumped over, no longer having the strength to hold himself up. He blinked, or maybe passed out for a few seconds, he didn’t know, and Dean was in front of him untying his binds. When he saw the bucket he growled and kicked it across the room, joining the ocean of blood.

He blinked again and eyes as black as coal were mere inches from his face, noses almost touching. Blood from his hair and face dripped onto Sam’s. Covered in gore like that, and not making jokes or grimacing and complaining how disgusting this was… this was not Dean. Dean would never let himself look like that. Dean would never find such joy in killing.

The hairs on the back of Sam’s neck stood up. He shivered. Every fiber of Sam’s being screamed for him to run away, to get away as fast he can. That Dean- no, this _demon_ -  would kill him too. Despite the fact he felt he would pass out at any second and probably couldn’t move a muscle, Sam’s body tensed and prepared for flight.

And then the demon whispered “Are you okay Sammy?” and he was _Dean_ again.

Sam knew he should be terrified after the display just moments ago, and maybe a small part of him was, but… really, he wasn’t. He just didn’t have it in him to be scared of his brother. Because this _was_ his brother. That was proven, he’d come for him. Only Dean would fend off over twenty vampires to save him. It had to be.

A hand gently, ever so gently, brushed the tears off his cheek. It was the gentlest touch he’d ever felt.

“Yeah,” he whispered, “I’m okay.”

Sam closed his eyes simply because he didn’t have the strength to keep them open anymore. There was the briefest sensation of being lifted and then arms around him… he forced his eyes open one more time. Dean was carrying him. In his arms. Like a fucking princess or something.

How did he still have the energy to blush?

“Dean, stop. I can walk.”

Sam could hear Dean’s smirk. “Pfft. Walk, my ass. You can’t even keep your eyes open.”

“I can too. Put me down… ‘s embarrassing.” Sam’s voice trailed off, growing ever softer.

“No can do, Princess.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Sam thought he had it in him to open his eyes one more time… Dean was grinning at him softly, his face a little too close for comfort and eyes too wide with concern to be a real smile. But Sam knew it was okay.

His eyes were a beacon of green in a sea of red.

Sam laid his head on Dean’s shoulder and let his eyes close…just for a little bit.

* * *

 

_So give them blood, blood, gallons of the stuff!_   
_Give them all that they can drink and it will never be enough._   
_So give them blood, blood, blood._   
_Grab a glass because there's going to be a flood!_

_-“Blood” by My Chemical Romance_


	4. Chapter 4

Dean lay Sam gently down on the bed furthest from the door in their motel room, fingers lingering on his pulse—Sam was _alive and safe with him._ But based on its sluggish pace, he wouldn’t be for long. The fact that Sam hadn’t protested even once to Dean scooping him up in his arms and carrying him attested to that.

“Sam? Wake up. Sam!” He hadn’t opened his eyes in three minutes and thirty seven seconds. Dean shook his shoulder forcefully (but not _too_ much force, right? He didn’t hear any bones snap. Fuck, he’d never realized how _breakable_ Sam was before… it was so hard to control his newfound strength, every time he touched Sam he was afraid of hurting him). For the first time his demon heart raced in real fear. “Sam!”

The pulse in Sam’s neck sped up slightly before unfocused hazel eyes blinked open. “Deeeennn,” Sam slurred breathlessly, expending whatever energy he had left in that short burst.

“Hey, Sammy—no, you can’t sleep right now, stay with me,” Dean murmured when Sam’s eyes slipped close again. “Focus on me, little brother.” He ran his fingers through brown locks matted and dyed red with blood. Ignored the little thrill of pleasure it gave him to see such a _pretty_ color and focused on the rush of pride he felt for his little brother when he opened his eyes with a soft moan.

“You with me?”

“Mmhmm.” Sam’s eyes were still open, so Dean let him get away with one syllable responses.

“Good, just stay with me. You’re doing great. There’s just one more tiny thing I need you to do for me before you can sleep: I need you to drink this for me. It’s not going to taste very good, but I need you to swallow it all. Can you do that for me?” He waited patiently for the almost imperceptible head nod in response as Sam’s eyes slipped close again.

Quick as lightning (before he could change his mind), Dean grabbed the demon-killing knife from the top of their weapons bag and slashed the blade across his wrist. Just barely managing to suppress the guttural hiss that threatened to escape, he silently raised his gushing wrist over Sam’s open mouth. The second the first drop exploded onto Sam’s waiting tongue, Sam’s eyes flew open—in fear.

Against all odds, Sam somehow found the energy to raise himself up and scoot back against the headboard. “Wh—what the fu—fuck? No, Dean, n-no.”

“Sam, you know there’s no way that doesn’t end with me in handcuffs if we take you to the hospital. You’ve lost _a lot_ of blood, and you _need_ a transfusion, fucking **yesterday**. You’ll _die_ if you don’t!”

“Don’t…care. Not drinking demon blood again.” Sam pointedly clamped his mouth shut and glared up at his brother, but it was obvious he was fighting to stay conscious. It only succeeded in making Dean feel more justified.

“Who cares what it is if it’ll save your life! Just. Do. It.”

Sam shook his head.

“Do it!”

Sam shook his head again. He was growing paler by the second and Dean knew it was a race against time.

Dean tore his gaze away from his little brother’s unfocused puppy dog eyes and stared at his boots. Let a deep breath out through his flared nostrils. If he didn’t do this, Sam would die. He couldn’t have that. So he felt no remorse for what he was about to do.

He loosened his control on the demon inside him.

“Don’t make me force you. Because I will,” Dean growled and looked back at Sam, and Sam immediately sensed the change in him.

This wasn’t _his_ Dean.

“I’m not… making you do… anything,” Sam panted, struggling to get enough air in his lungs to even speak. “But if you put… _that_ in my… body… again, I _swear_ I will nev—never… forgive you.”

There was a beat of silence before Dean shrugged. “I can live with that.”

Blood had long since stopped oozing from his wrist, the wound having healed itself with little more than a thought, so Dean slashed the knife across his wrist once more and brought it to Sam’s snarling mouth. His little brother tried to turn away, but he could barely move. His attempts to get away were downright pathetic. Dean grabbed Sam’s jaw in one hand and pried his mouth open with the other.

It was so easy. Pathetically easy.

He could force Sam to swallow his blood without a second thought.

He could _kill_ Sam without a second thought. Just a little too much pressure when he ran his fingers through Sam’s hair and he could crush Sam’s skull.

**No no no no nonononononononono-**

“FUCK!” Dean roared and threw the knife across the room, where it landed embedded in the thin plaster walls. “WHY WON’T YOU DO IT? IT WILL SAVE YOUR FRIGGIN LIFE. WHY WON’T YOU DO THIS ONE FUCKING THING?”

He watched, practically vibrating with rage, as a single tear slipped down Sam’s cheek. Sam whispered, “B-Because I… I promised. I m-made a p-promise to myself and to y-you that I would nev-never, _never_ drink demon blood again. Never l-let you down _again_. Fu-fucked that one up, didn’t I?”

The defeated, bitter smile on Sam’s face shattered whatever was left of Dean’s black, twisted, mutilated heart. He fell to his knees, utterly at his brother’s mercy. He blinked rapidly. His eyes burned. Everything was blurry.

He didn’t know demons could cry.

“Sam,” Dean whispered _(begged)_ “I…I… _can’t._ I can’t do this without you. Don’t you see? You. Are. _Everything._ So if you plan on checking out, you might as well stab Ruby’s knife through my heart right now. I can’t fight this thing inside me without my pain in the ass little brother.”

It didn’t make sense. Demons don’t cry. And yet, here Sam was, watching his brother, a goddamn demon, cry. Through tears of his own, making the world a blurry mess.

_His brother._

_This was his brother._

He blinked, and Dean stood in front of him, holding out Ruby’s knife. Sam stared. And stared. Shook his head.

Closed his eyes.

Opened his mouth.

The metallic tang was almost instantaneous. Dean had acted without hesitation, in fear Sam would change his mind.

Even as he gulped down the deep red liquid like he was starving for it, feeling the fire ignite inside his body and the flames licking at his veins, burning straight through them, a part of him recoiled from what he was doing. The choice he was making.

Another, more basic, part of him rejoiced.

When Dean finally pulled his wrist away (all too soon) Sam was disgusted with his body for chasing after it, wanting more.

“I think that’s enough for now,” Dean chuckled, healing his wrist with a thought. He held out a hand to Sam. “What do you say we get cleaned up, huh? I smell like vamp juice and my clothes are getting crusty.”

Sam warily chanced a peek up at his brother. No disgust or judgement in his eyes. He didn’t look at Sam like he was a doomed science experiment for drinking demon blood. Only concern for his well-being, fond exasperation for being kept waiting, and… love… shone in Dean’s gaze.

Dean’s hand was warm when he wrapped his fingers around it.

It probably should have been weird to share a shower with his brother after all these years, but it wasn’t. They’d been through too much together to feel awkward about nudity _now_. Instead, it felt perfectly natural for Dean to soap him up and then lightly scrub all the blood and dirt off Sam’s body. It was just like when they were kids. As if nothing had changed between them. Maybe nothing had, after all.

As Sam turned from Dean scrubbing his back, Dean met him with a kiss. On each of his eyelids. On his nose.  Cheeks.  Lips. Heart.

Sam nearly collapsed with the weight of Dean’s silent apology. A weight had been lifted off his shoulders he didn’t even know he was carrying. Dean still loved him. Dean still cared. Dean didn’t blame him for _that night_. A new weight was in its place, a different, fluttery, nervous kind of weight he wasn’t sure he knew the meaning of, but warmed his body in a whole other way than the demon blood.

He’d figure it out tomorrow.

That night, Dean held him tightly, keeping the nightmares of red and teeth and black eyes at bay.

* * *

 

Sam woke to the feather-light touch of his brother stroking a thumb over his cheek, practically a caress. It felt nice, so he burrowed in deeper under the covers and let the comforting scent of Dean wash over him, the warmth of Dean’s body pressed against his, and the soft caress of his brother lull him back to sleep.

“Sammy?” Dean murmured, and his tone was so hopeful Sam couldn’t help but pry one eye open on instinct.

“Mmmph,” Sam grunted, but knew Dean understood that as, _‘good morning.’_

“I’m so sorry. God, I should have made you eat something, drink some juice, made sure you were totally okay before you fell asleep. But you were so tired I just wanted to let you sleep, and then I fell asleep, and now you’re so friggin pale, I thought—I thought…” Dean broke off with a shaky breath that was more of a sob.

Immediately, Sam was on alert. All traces of sleep were washed away with the unabated fear in his big brother’s voice. He sat up in bed, ignoring the shortness of breath and nausea that suddenly took hold of him. Dean needed him. “Dean, I’m fine. I’m perfectly fine, you saved me, remember? You can relax now.”

“If that’s true, why are you as translucent as the ghosts we hunt?” Dean grumbled.

“Huh?” Sure, he felt a little dizzy, but he was fine…

“I think you need to drink some more of my blood.”

Sam blinked owlishly for several seconds before what Dean said fully sunk in. His brother wanted him to do _that_. Again. He opened his mouth to say, “no way in hell,” but hesitated when he saw the white-knuckled grip Dean had on the pillow next to him. The small tremble running through Dean’s entire body. Dean had truly thought he was dead.

Knowing what that did to both of them, Sam pushed down his initial repulsion to open his mouth nice and wide so there was no mistaking what the gesture meant.

Just like last time, Dean wasted no time in bringing the knife to his wrist and bleeding into Sam’s waiting mouth. Sam swallowed it all down, greedily. The fire was back, more intense than ever before, and his body was _burning,_ and he wanted more, more, _more_ …

Dean felt the change come over his brother in the way he gulped down the blood faster and faster. “Sam, what? I think that’s enou-” Dean tried to close the wound, but Sam started to suck on it, forcing more blood out. His long, wet, _hot_ tongue lapped at Dean’s wrist, swirling around lasciviously. The little mewls Sam made, and the suction, _god the suction_ , made what felt like all the blood in Dean’s body suddenly rush south.  

“Sam, you gotta… gotta stop… oh… _oh!_ ” Sam hummed and the vibrations somehow made the suction even more intense, and Dean couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed a fistful of Sam’s hair and yanked him off his wrist and put his lips in its place. He licked into Sam’s mouth, tasting himself, hot and strangely spicy, and moaned.

Sam responded enthusiastically, kissing Dean back just as feveredly. He thrust his tongue into Dean’s mouth like he wanted to map it. Dean loved it. He leaned more over Sam and ground his hips into Sam’s experimentally. Sam threw his head back and moaned. Dean grinned, and did it again, harder this time. They established a hard and fast rhythm, with Sam meeting Dean’s every thrust, grinding their hard dicks together with only the thing cotton of sleep pants between them. They kissed, with too much teeth in their fevered pace, somehow making it even hotter.

“Oh God, Sammy, gonna…” Dean panted into Sam’s neck.

“Not yet! I want you. Want you in me,” Sam moaned when Dean bit the junction between neck and shoulder.

Dean had to reach into his sleep pants and grab the base of his dick to keep from coming just from hearing that. “You—you really want to, to do _that_ again? For real?” _You want me?_ Try as he might, he couldn’t quite keep the outright hope from his voice.

Sam chuckled. “Yes Dean, I want to have the buttsex with you, if you want me to put it in terms your fourteen-year-old brain will understand.”

“Shut it, smartass,” Dean growled, but playfully. He reluctantly pulled away from his brother and off the bed to reach inside a side pocket of his duffel for the small bottle of lube he kept hidden away. “We do this, we’re going to do it right this time.”

The answering smile Sam threw him nearly took him to his knees with the amount of unconditional love and trust he saw in Sam’s eyes. Even as a filthy demon, his baby brother still trusted him completely, going so far as to truly begin this new facet of their relationship _despite the fact he was a fucking demon_. The sight of Sam spreading his legs wantonly in an open invitation nearly took him to his knees in a different way, however.

Dean squeezed some lube on his fingers, rubbing it between his palms to warm it up, and then gently pressed a finger into Sam’s waiting hole. He crooked his finger and carefully pulled it in and out several times before adding another finger. As he did this, he locked eyes with Sam, intently watching every play of emotion across his face. There was a little discomfort when he added the second finger, but mostly he seemed eager, if impatient. He added a third finger the next time he pulled out, and when he thrust his fingers back in he felt them brush a bundle of nerves. _Yahtzee._

“Holy shit!” Sam’s back arched with the wave of pleasure. “Do that again.”

“Your wish is my command.” Dean met Sam with an evil grin and thrust his fingers back in, nailing Sam’s prostate, and then again and again, fucking Sam with his fingers. He loved the way Sam keened and met Dean’s every thrust, trying to take Dean’s fingers in even deeper.

“I’m ready, I’m ready, Dean, please, please,” Sam moaned and for a second he wanted to scream for the loss when he felt Dean’s fingers leave him. But a moment later he felt the head of Dean’s heavily lubed cock at his entrance.

“Sammy, are you sure this is what you really want? Because we can stop--” Sam heard the barely contained panic in his brother’s voice. He grabbed Dean’s hand and squeezed.

“I want this. I’ve wanted this for a long, long time, believe me. I want _you_. All of you. Demon and all,” Sam whispered. He reached up and tenderly wiped away the single tear falling down Dean’s cheek.

Inch by slow, painful inch, Sam gripped Dean’s hand as he entered his little brother. When he finally bottomed out, he had to take a minute to simply keep from coming. Sam was so _tight_ and _hot_ and _velvety_ around his dick. Once again, he was struck by the overwhelming feeling of _home_. That _this_ was where he belonged. With his little brother, inside his little brother, the only home he had ever known or needed. It was even better than he remembered, because this time, Sam could really participate. He didn’t let Dean forget that either as he impaled himself a little deeper on Dean’s cock.

“Gonna fuck me, big brother?”

Dean smirked. “Don’t test me, little brother.” The wrongness of it all, of the nicknames, made it even hotter. He pulled out until just the head of his dick was inside Sam, and thrust back in. Sam gasped and spread his legs even wider, wanting more of that feeling. Dean restrained himself at first, keeping an agonizingly slow pace, not wanting to hurt his brother. But when Sam started meeting his every thrust and screamed “Ha—harder! Dammit!” Dean obliged. He was a gentleman after all. He gripped Sam’s hips tightly (Sam would definitely have bruises in the shape of his fingers there tomorrow… he liked that idea) and picked up his pace.

 It wasn’t long before he had Sam screaming on every thrust. Distantly, he heard the headboard banging into the wall, but was too preoccupied with making Sam fall apart to care that the entire motel could probably hear them. He actually kinda liked the idea of everyone knowing Sam was _his._ On an impulse, Dean threw one of Sam’s legs over his shoulder, sharpening the angle, allowing him to hit Sam’s prostate straight on, on every thrust.

“Dean, Dean, _Dean_.” Sam cried, beyond words. His entire world was narrowed to the sensation of Dean _inside him_ , and giving him more pleasure than he had even known possible. “Gonna cum…” he moaned loudly but with the way Dean nailed his prostate so perfectly he couldn’t bring himself to be embarrassed.

“Come for me, Sammy.” Dean thrust home hard, sending the headboard slamming loudly, and Sam writhed beneath him, screaming Dean’s name as he came. The sight of his little brother coming undone and the clench of muscles around his cock had him coming within moments, burying himself deep inside Sam as he came.

For a moment, it was all they could do just to lay there, remembering how to breathe. That was the most intense orgasm of Dean’s life. “Holy shit,” he panted into Sam’s sweaty neck and resisted the urge to lick the beads of sweat away.

“I know. That was…”

“Awesome?” Dean supplied with a smirk.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Get off me. Or should I say, out of me. You’re heavy.”

A devilish grin was the only warning Sam received before Dean wiggled his hips, brushing Sam’s oversensitive prostate with his soft cock. “Deeeeean,” Sam whined.

The sound of Dean’s full-body laughter was wholly worth it.

* * *

 

It was weird.

To be exact, it was more weird that it _wasn’t weird._ This thing between them. They settled into it like they’d been doing it their entire lives. In a way, they had. But you’d think there would be some kind of adjustment period, some kind of _holy shit I’m dating my little brother that I practically raised (did you know I used to change his diapers?) that I’ve harbored latent incestuous feelings for, for who knows how long? And oh yeah, I’m a demon now!_ freak out.

There wasn’t any. Sam and Dean fit together seamlessly like two halves of a whole, no assembly required. This new facet of their relationship didn’t just feel natural, it felt _inevitable_. The touches, sharing a bed, making love, it all felt so _right_.

Dean waited. He waited for the freak out, for the epiphany at four a.m. that this was _disgusting, sick, wrong, dirty, how he was manipulating his little brother into this_. It never came, for days and weeks he waited for the other shoe to drop and it never did, but still he waited. Instead, all he felt was a tentative, transitory sort of happiness.

That’s exactly what he was afraid of.

* * *

 

**ONE MONTH LATER**

Dean had dragged Sam to a bar in Chicago. They’d just come off a hunt, a malicious spirit haunting some old abandoned factory, and it had gone off without a hitch (for once). To celebrate, Dean wanted to go to a bar and have a few drinks with his little brother. Despite his protests that he just wanted to go back to the motel and sleep, when Dean stuck his lower lip out in a pout, Sam found himself unable to say no.

The bar was a mite classier than they were used to. The tabletops were actually clean and the place didn’t smell like the usual combination of whiskey, death, and piss. It even had a more modern feel, with the black and white tables and flooring.

“I’m gonna get us some beers,” Dean said, leading Sam with a hand on his lower back to a table in the back of the spacious room before heading to the bar.

Sam sat down and tried not to blush at the small public display of affection. He looked around the bar cautiously; there were only four other people in the room and not a single one of them appeared to have witnessed it anyways. He let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. Dean had been a lot more… _touchy feely_ wasn’t the right word for it, but… Dean touched him _a lot_ more often now.

Not that he was complaining.

“Hey, haven’t seen you around here before.”

Sam looked up to see the man seated at the table in front of theirs turned around in his seat, staring at him expectantly. He was blonde, with angular features. The first word that sprang to Sam’s mind was _pretty boy_.

“Uh, yeah, just blowing through town on business,” Sam muttered quietly and flashed an awkward smile before looking back at the direction his brother had gone in. As if on cue, Dean appeared with two bottles of ice cold beer. He set them down with more force than necessary and took his seat across from Sam.

Dean subtlely cast a dark glance at the man he’d seen talking to Sam, who’d quickly turned back around the second he’d seen Dean coming. He then looked to Sam. The message was clear. _He bothering you?_

Sam shook his head and took a long pull from his beer. _Let it go._

Dean shrugged, ignoring his first instinct to bash the man’s face in, in favor of picking up his own beer.

The incident with the blonde man was soon forgotten, and four beers later, Sam and Dean were doing exactly what they came here for: laughing, relaxing, eating greasy bar food, and hustling pool. Between them, they’d even managed to make over a couple grand in one night by hustling a group of overprivileged college kids.

It was a good night.

But when Dean noticed Sam swaying on his feet after his fifth beer, he decided to call it a night. He lead a grinning Sam back to their table and laughed when Sam didn’t seem to want to let his hand go. “I’m gonna hit the head. You be good til I get back, ya hear?” Even demons needed to piss when they drank that much, apparently.

His little brother nodded and smirked back cheekily. “Hurry back,” he slurred his words slightly. He watched Dean leave shaking his head fondly. The world was starting to spin, so Sam closed his eyes. He felt a hand on his shoulder but was too out of it to startle.

“Deeen?” Sam slurred, expecting to see his brother, but when the room stopped spinning long enough for him to focus he was met with the intense blue-eyed gaze of the blonde man from before.

“Where’s your friend? He get lost?”

“Noooo, man,” Sam laughed, because for some reason it was really funny, “he went to the, to the…”

The man grinned. “I’m Chad.” Sam sloppily shook the offered hand, almost missing by a wide margin. Chad leaned in and through the haze of alcohol Sam could smell… lemons? The scent was so unexpected he couldn’t help but giggle. “Care to clue me in on what’s so funny?” Lemons! Pretty boy Chad smelled like lemons! He was too caught up in laughing to notice Chad leaning in even closer, invading his personal space, and laying his hand on Sam’s. All Sam knew was that he smelled lemons and lemons smelled good—lemons! Ha!

And then there was a loud crash echoing throughout the mostly empty room, ringing in his ears and Chad wasn’t there anymore.

“Don’t touch him. Don’t touch him. Don’t. Touch. Him.” Dean snarled, smashing his fast into Chad’s face again and again and again in the middle of the rubble of where the bar stood only moments before. A resounding _crack_ rang through the entire bar and with each swing of Dean’s fist into Chad’s face it grew louder and louder. Blood gushed freely from Chad’s nose and mouth and he still hadn’t woken up from when Dean had thrown him into the bar.

It all made Sam horribly nauseous. His stomach rolled, and it wasn’t from the alcohol. “Dean, stop.”

Dean continued to pummel Chad’s face, blatantly ignoring Sam.

“Dean, stop it!” Dean didn’t stop. “I said stop it!” Sam sucked in a shakey breath at the sight of Chad’s now unrecognizable face. “ _Dean. Stop. Please stop_ ,” he whispered.

Finally, mercifully, Dean did. He pulled away from Chad and stood, turning to face his brother… but not before delivering a good hard kick to Chad’s ribs, without a doubt breaking them. Sam thought they sounded sickeningly like castanets as they broke. He stalked towards Sam like a hunter facing its prey and Sam could see nothing of his older brother behind the blazing black eyes.

Sam stood there frozen, unable to force his body to move even with the rush of sobering adrenaline. For a moment he wasn’t sure whether Dean would turn on him next. Dean pressed his body up against Sam’s. It was the first time Sam ever flinched away from his brother’s touch. But to his surprise Dean simply bowed his neck and nuzzled his face into the crook of Sam’s shoulder. As if he was marking Sam with his scent.

“ **Mine** ,” Dean growled.

Sam swallowed heavily. “Y-Yeah Dean, y-yours.” That seemed to appease Dean and he ducked his head again. When he raised it his eyes were green again.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Everyone else had left the bar, screaming, when Dean had flung Chad into the bar like a ragdoll, so it made for an easy get away. Sam was sure he heard sirens in the distance and was thankful they left before the cops arrived. He hoped they had an ambulance with them.

“What _was_ that?” Sam rounded on Dean the second they were safely out of the parking lot.

Dean shrugged. “He touched you.”

“All that because he got a little touchy-feely?” Sam asked in disbelief, clenching his jaw.

“Uh-huh.”

“You _broke his fucking face, Dean._ That is _not_ okay!”

“So?”

Sam’s jaw actually dropped a little. “You could have killed him. Don’t you understand that?”

“Again I repeat: So?”

* * *

 

**ONE WEEK LATER**

“Sam?”

“Yeah, over here in the library.”

Dean strode over to where Sam was hunched over an old tome in a corner of the library. “Whatcha doing, geekin’ it up in here?” After the bar incident, they’d decided (as in, Sam gave Dean the puppy eyes and Dean reluctantly agreed) to return to the bunker

“Well,” Sam cleared his throat, “I think it’s time we got back to work on our original objective: getting the Mark of Cain off you and turning you back into a human.”

“Not interested.” Dean came up behind Sam and rested his chin on Sam’s shoulder to see what he was reading. It was in some dead language he couldn’t make heads or tails of, but apparently Sam could.

He felt his brother’s body tense immediately. “You’re joking, right? Cause that’s not funny.”

“Dead serious. You’re wasting your time.”

“There has to be a cure _somewhere!_ We’ll find it, just give me time-”

“There isn’t. Quit kidding yourself,” Dean hissed, flashing black eyes as he gripped Sam’s shoulder painfully tight. “Ever if there was a cure, I wouldn’t take it.”

Sam whirled around in his chair so fast it fell over with a thud. He gripped the front of Dean’s shirt with shaking hands. “You don’t mean that. Whatever’s going on inside you, you have to fight it.”

Narrowing his eyes, Dean raised his own hands over Sam’s squeezing them so tight Sam let out a pained gasp. “I _like_ things the way they are. **Leave them.”**

As he stared into the inky black abyss of his brother’s eyes, Sam was reminded with startling clarity that this was not _his_ Dean.

But he would get him back. One way or another. No matter the cost.

* * *

 

The old wooden floors beneath him creaked as Sam paced back and forth in Dean’s room. It was more like _their_ room now, ever since Dean had surprised him by moving all of his meager belongings into the admittedly homier room after having spent what must have been hours cleaning it up after his little tantrum so long ago. The bed was much too small to fit the two of them comfortably, and Dean talked about buying a bigger one, but since Dean didn’t technically need to sleep it worked for now. Demon or not, Dean still smelled the same (just with a heavy overtone of sulfur), which was comforting, so Sam didn’t mind the lack of space.

Dean was on a local hunt, a haunting, so Sam didn’t have long to do this. Dean would finish in no time.

Biting his lip, Sam wearily fell to his knees where he’d abruptly stopped his pacing; in front of the bed. He always felt odd doing this, as if he didn’t have the right. Every time, he half expected a bolt of lightning to smite him.

With closed eyes, clasped palms, and a racing heart, Sam prayed.

He couldn’t help but think about Cas as he did so, even if he knew the angel would most likely not be able to answer.

“Hey… Cas… Um, things are… they’re bad, and getting worse. Dean doesn’t want to be cured anymore. Everyday he loses another piece of himself. You know, he even had the nerve to lock me in the Bunker while he goes on hunts all by himself. Spouting bullshit about my safety. As if I’m some kind of princess or something! He won’t let me do anything or go anywhere! I’m going crazy. We gotta get him human again so I can kick his ass for that, right?”

Sam swallowed heavily against the sudden lump in his throat. “I—I need him back. I have to get him back, no matter the consequences, do you understand? What I’m about to do… it’s for Dean, okay? I need you to understand that. If you could just, uh, watch over us like you always do, that’d be great. Thanks. Hope things are going okay in Heaven. See ya soon, I hope. And I’m rambling.”

Sam muttered to himself, standing up with a red face. He looked over at the bowl on the nightstand, seeming to grow larger with each passing second. This was such a bad idea, but he didn’t have any other options. He _needed_ to get Dean back, and he knew without a doubt his brother was still in there.

It was in his smile, his laugh, his concerned gaze, how gentle he was when he made love to Sam. It was up to him to bring his brother back, and he wasn’t going to let him down like so many times before.

_Not this time,_ Sam repeated like a mantra inside his head.

Grabbing a match, Sam said a silent prayer that Dean would forgive him for what he was about to do.

* * *

 

“Soup’s on!” Dean called out as he entered the Bunker attempting to balance several bags of food.

“Hey.” Sam came in and took a couple bags from him and set them on the kitchen counter.

They ate in comfortable silence, occasionally exchanging banter or stealing each other’s food. Sam kept glancing at him with a weird expression on his face when he thought Dean wasn’t looking. He almost looked nervous, while trying to hide the fact that he was nervous. But what did Sam have to be nervous about? He’d grill Sam about it later, if Sam didn’t initiate a chick-flick moment on his own.

“Hey Dean, can you give me a hand in the library?”

“Yeah sure, I’ll be right there.”

Before walking out Sam pulled Dean in for a long, deep kiss. A familiar warmth spread through Dean, and he deepened the kiss even more. When they finally pulled apart for air purposes, a string of saliva joined them. Sam looked absolutely debauched with kiss bitten lips, mussed hair, and adorably flushed cheeks.

“What was that for? Not that I’m complaining.”

Sam shrugged and gave him that weird look again before walking away, leaving Dean with a little _problem._

Several minutes later, Dean stepped into the library and froze in confusion when he tried to take another step and couldn’t. A sneaking suspicion in his gut made him look up. A freshly painted Devil’s Trap stood above him.

“What the fuck Sam?” Dean growled.

Sam stepped forward, looking like he was about to apologize, when another figure appeared next to him.

“Hello boys.”


	5. Chapter 5

_Can I clear my conscience,_   
_If I'm different from the rest_   
_Do I have to run and hide? (Oh oh oh oh)_   
_I never said that I want this_   
_This burden came to me_   
_And it's made it's home inside (Oh oh oh oh)_

_If I told you what I was_   
_Would you turn your back on me?_   
_And if I seem dangerous_   
_Would you be scared?_   
_I get the feeling just because_   
_Everything I touch isn't dark enough_   
_If this problem lies in me_

_I'm only a man with a candle to guide me_   
_I'm taking a stand to escape what's inside me_   
_A monster, a monster_   
_I've turned into a monster_   
_A monster, a monster_   
_And it keeps getting stronger_

_-“Monster” by Imagine Dragons_

* * *

 

 

“Crowley? What the fuck are you doing here?” Dean snarled. He turned his glare to Sam. “What the _fuck_ is he doing here?”

“Your brother-slash-lover here summoned me, begging oh so prettily, to find a cure for your little problem.” Crowley stopped in front of Sam and stroked a finger across his cheek. He appeared more amused than anything at Dean’s answering growl. “What, ‘fraid your brother might finally come to his senses and fall for the _bigger_ , badder, demon?”

“Cut it out, Crowley.” Sam snapped and pushed Crowley out of his personal space. “I summoned you to cure him, not piss him off even more.”

“You actually summoned this douche?” The look of betrayal on Dean’s face nearly made Sam fall to his knees begging for forgiveness. Lucifer and Michael’s torture hurt less. For a moment Dean looked so broken, before schooling his features back into a glare.

“Dean, it’s not like that-”

“Then how is it, _Sam_?” Dean roared, baring his teeth. “Because it sure fucking looks like you’re working with Crowley, of all people, to find some mythical cure that _does not exist_.”

Sam had to look away from the abyss of his brother’s black eyes, unable to defend himself from Dean’s accusatory glare. Demon or not, Dean was in pain and he was the cause of it. Again. He remembers what it was like to be scared and alone while fighting part of your very being that threatened to overwhelm you, and feeling like the whole world was your enemy. Lashing out anyone that claimed to want to help because you were doomed anyway, right? Why couldn’t they just see that they were wasting their time?

And because he knows first-hand what it’s like, Sam won’t let Dean make the same mistakes he did. He _will not_ let his brother down one more time.

“It does exist, actually.”

Both Winchesters whirled around to face Crowley in disbelief. The King of Hell casually poured himself a few fingers of whiskey from the bottle left on the end table.

“You have the cure?” Sam demanded.

“That I do, my adorably confused Moose.”

Sam grit his teeth. “Care to share with the class?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely… can you get him to shut up? I can barely hear myself monologue.” Crowley gestured to where Dean stood under the Devil’s Trap swearing up a storm. “Maybe stick him in that cozy sex dungeon of yours?”

“We are _not_ putting him in the dungeon! He isn’t a prisoner here—shut up Dean, you’re not slitting his throat. Right now.”

Crowley rolled his eyes and continued on as if he hadn’t been so rudely interrupted. “I have the cure. Found it in an old recipe book of my mother’s, handed down for generations. Quite anticlimactic, really.” He took a graceful sip from his glass while staring at Sam pointedly. “Should be easy. Light up some smelly herbs, say the magic words, blah blah blah. There’s just one tiny thing I need from you…”

“And that is?” Sam asked, raising an eyebrow. When he’d summoned Crowley he’d fully expected to pay a hefty price, one way or another. Powerful spells often demanded payment of equal value, usually in the form of self-sacrifice. It didn’t change a damn thing for him.

“The spell will suck out the black parts of Dean’s soul, the parts the Mark of Cain tainted. You need a container of sorts for the demonic bits. Don’t get your panties in a twist, he’ll be fine.”

“What do you mean by… container?”

“Because it will technically house a portion of Dean’s soul, an extension of Dean, the container will need to be an extension of him as well.”

“So something that’s important to him?”

“Aren’t you a smart little Moose?”

“I know just the thing. Wait here,” Sam said with an utterly blank expression before walking off in the direction of the dorms. Even his voice was devoid of any emotion. He returned several minutes later clutching something in his large palm.

Crowley produced a large bowl full of herbs and random items that Sam really did not want to look at closer (he was right, it really did stink to high heaven) seemingly out of nowhere. He held the bowl out to Sam only to snatch it away at the very last second, grinning at Sam’s impatient glare. “Ah ah ah, you didn’t think I would do this for _free_ , did you?”

Sam took a deep calming breathe to help him resist the urge to pull out the demon killing knife hidden in his boot. “Just tell me what you want and get out of here.”

“While having a Winchester owe you a favor is always a wonderful thing, I was thinking something more substan-” Crowley suddenly cocked his head to the side, looking downright baffled. It caused Sam to freeze; having never seen Crowley confused before, it was a mite unsettling. Thrown off his guard, he didn’t even react until Crowley already had a hand on his stomach.

“What the fuck Crowley?” Sam shoved his hand away and took a step back. He could tell Dean hadn’t liked that one bit judging by the demon’s renewed attempts to escape the Devil’s Tramp, however futile that might be.

A wide grin spread across Crowley’s features and a chill went down Sam’s spine. Smiling demons was _never_ a good thing in his experience.

“Never mind love, happy to be of service. Free of charge. Just don’t forget what _I_ did for _you_ , okay? Toodles.” He shoved the bowl roughly into Sam’s arms and just like that, the King of Hell had left the building.

Sam shook his head. Great. Now he owed the King of Hell a favor. Trying not to think of how many ways that could go spectacularly wrong, he shoved it out of his head to fret over another day. He had a brother in dire need of his humanity restored.

In no time at all Sam had lit up the herbs, recited the incantation thanks to the little note Crowley left, and the spell was nearly complete. There was just one little problem. He needed Dean to hold the object soon to contain his demonic energy close to his heart. Dean refused.

“Why the hell should I?” Dean snarled. “I told you I like things the way they are.”

“Because you’re not yourself, Dean,” Sam threw his hands up in frustration. I _know_ you’re in there, the _real_ you. Just like I know you care about me. So these constant mood swings, the violence, the anger… why would you want to keep all that? _Why?_ ”

Silence so loud it fills the entire bunker rings in Sam’s ears. He’s not sure he’ll get an answer. But then Dean looks at him and whispers so quietly Sam almost can’t hear it, “Because what if, when I’m human, I can’t bring myself to love you the same way? What if _you_ don’t love me the same way?”

Sam is stunned. For all the millions of reasons Dean could have for refusing humanity, he _never_ would have thought their relationship would be it. After all this time though, he feels like he should have known better. For better or worse, time and time again, Dean has proven that his driving force in nearly every decision he makes is _Sam_. And Sam’s first instinct is to deny it, that _no one,_ least of all his perfect, beautiful brother, could love him that much. No one _should_. But he knows it’s true. Knows it in his bones and his blood.

So he basks in that unconditional love for a moment, soaks it up, and shows Dean he loves him every bit as much.

“I’ve loved you since the moment I was born, Dean. From looking up to you and wanting to be just like you, to first noticing how beautiful you are when I turned twelve, to finally having that chance months ago. Demon blood has nothing to do with it. I want to be your _partner_. I want _you_.”

It wasn’t as elegant as Sam had planned, but his words got caught up in his suddenly tight throat and came out in a raspy rush. He hoped it was enough to convey his message.

Even with his black eyes Sam can see the play of emotions cross Dean’s face, going from shock to hope and love and finally settling on barely controlled fear. “But what if-”

“You love me, right?” Sam interrupts.

Dean looks confused at the sudden question but nods, looking Sam straight in the eye.

“Then we’ll always find our way back to each other.”

His hand is shaking as he holds out his palm wide. Ready.

Sam presses the object into Dean’s palm and the effect is instantaneous. Dean screams and falls to his knees, seizing. Black is smoke is pouring out of his mouth and into the object clutched to his heart. It seems to go on forever, but finally, mercifully, it ends. The amulet is darker, almost black, and has a heavy air about it. It worked.

“Dean?” Sam whispers to his panting brother.

“Sammy?” Dean raises his head and his eyes are brilliant, _brilliant_ , green and Sam could kiss him. So he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Any thoughts, comments, and kudos are greatly appreciated and give me new life!


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